


Bumps In the Road

by Guanin



Series: Antipodal Shadows [17]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Biphobia, M/M, homophobic parent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 07:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3373493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guanin/pseuds/Guanin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oswald's mother is still not won over by Jim. Meanwhile, Oswald's next step in his plan to take over the Theatre District leaves Jim less than pleased.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The comments on the last chapter were really something. Wow! I love you guys so much! You are all amazing! This story has taken a lot of turns, way more than I expected when I started out, and I'm so happy that you have stuck it out so far. Thank you so much! I wanted to reply individually, but I have been busy with work and computer problems (Windows 8 is Satan) and I was already so late with this chapter since I had to reshuffle plot stuff. 
> 
> I've replied to kristina's comment in Chapter 2. Feel free to comment on it, if you want. I wanted to post it directly on the comment thread, but it's too long.

Oswald arrived at his apartment at 6pm on the dot. No, not his apartment. Not anymore. It was only his mother’s apartment now. His apartment was the one that he now shared with Jim. Mother was still home, she always would be, but Jim was now home, too, and it was only under his roof that Oswald now wished to lay down his head in rest. Mother, no doubt, would persist on contesting the issue, drowning him in entreaties to return to his “rightful” abode, but as much as he wanted her to be happy with him again, she would simply have to learn that the answer would always be no.

Two seconds after he walked through the door, mother greeted him with a tight hug.

“Oh, I am so happy to see you,” she said, as if weeks had passed since their last reunion.

“You saw me this morning,” he said, slowly managing to untangle himself.

“Yes, but… Well, it’s been so long since you had dinner with me.”

Now, why did Oswald suspect that her initial statement ended in “that man isn’t here”? Suppressing the first of what was bound to be a long string of sighs, he removed his coat and braced himself. They had hardly resolved all their issues that morning. Some probably would never dissipate, which he would just have to live with, but, oh, how he wished that her harping on about Jim not being good for him wouldn’t be one of them. Yet five minutes into dinner, just five little minutes, she had to bring him up. She just couldn’t restrain herself, could she?

“So… This Jim Gordon.”

Oswald set his mashed potato filled fork back on his plate.

“I do hope you’re not about to say something insulting, mother.”

“No, no. But I have the right to know about who you’re living with, don’t I?”

Living with. As if Jim were his roommate.

“What do you want to ask?”

“Has he had other relationships?”

Oswald frowned at her.

“Why are you asking that?”

“You’ve had so little experience, darling.”

Oh, God.

“He didn’t seduce me, mother. I thought we covered that. He didn’t charm me or lure me in. If anything, I seduced him.”

That wasn’t what how it happened, either, but his mother’s indignation would just have to stuff it. 

“Alright,” she said stiffly. “I still want to know.”

He considered not answering, but it was a relatively harmless question, even though it was still far too intrusive for his liking. But she could be asking much worse. He couldn’t deny her any information without her turning unresponsive herself. Their truce was still so fresh and tender. The thought of jeopardizing it frightened him.

“He had a longtime girlfriend that I know of. I haven’t asked beyond that.”

“A girlfriend? But he’s with you.”

“Yes. He’s bisexual.”

“Like those married men who step out on their wives to have some encounter with a hustler on the streets?”

What?

“I… I don’t even know how to respond to that. Mother, that’s one of the most ridiculous comparisons I’ve ever heard. Jim does not go out whoring.”

 _Although I have._

“What if he leaves you for a woman? He could want a wife. Kids.”

The rejoinder burning on Oswald’s mouth dried up at those last words. Kids. Oswald had never felt the desire to have any, quite the opposite, in fact, but Jim might be the type. That had likely been the plan with Barbara. A loving, respectable home. A spouse whom he could publicly proclaim. Children to carry on that fiery determination that shone in his eyes. Oswald provided the loving part, but the rest… Respectable had never been associated with him, their relationship was firmly under wraps for several reasons, including personal safety, and children weren’t something that Oswald could ever envision himself wanting. Would Jim regret missing out on having a family? Was this not the sort of thing that people mourned not taking a chance on when they grew old and grey?

But who was Oswald kidding? For Jim to regret any of this, he would have to remain with Oswald for a long while, and, well, there wasn’t much chance of that, now was there?

However, there was absolutely no need for his mother to learn any of this.

“Jim is happy with me,” he said, instilling his words with stubborn confidence. “He’s not going to leave me for someone else, woman or otherwise. That’s not how it works. And I’m not going to leave him just because you try to put ideas in my head.”

“They’re not ideas. They could very well be true. You can’t know how this is going to go.”

“Neither can you.”

“I just don’t want you getting your heart broken.”

She placed a concerned hand on his arm. Oswald defiantly ate a piece of chicken, his breath flaring at the hypocrisy of her words. 

“So you propose that I break my heart now by leaving him myself?”

“Two weeks is too short a time to know his mind. How do you know it’s not a fling for him?”

“You’re right. It is a short time. But I am happy with him. He’s kind and he’s thoughtful and he’s wonderful to be with. It might not last. That is always a possibility in life. But I will be with him for as long as I can. For now, I am happy. Isn’t that the most important thing? Don’t you want me to be happy?”

Her hand had dropped away as he spoke, brow scrunching into a frown, and she looked away, clearly less than thrilled by this response.

“Of course I do, Oswald.” 

But not if it took him away from her. He put his fork down, the chicken sticking in his throat, his appetite drying up completely. He wanted to be home with Jim, eating pot pies or leftover Thai food in peace, not being judged or questioned or being implored to leave the man who had made him the happiest that he had ever felt in his whole life. Jim was his home now. Even if, when, Jim decided that he couldn’t deal with having his conscience torn by Oswald, this apartment, the walls that he had grown up in under his mother’s watchful eye, they would no longer be complete for him. There would always be a piece missing, a need going unfulfilled. 

“I love you both, mom,” he said, laying his hand on hers. “You can’t keep me all to yourself anymore. Please understand that.” 

She rubbed his hand, her rings cold against his skin. 

“Eat your dinner,” she said, not looking at him. “It’s getting cold.”

`````````````  
After Oswald left to be with his mother, Jim managed to loiter in the apartment for a grand total of sixteen minutes before he decided that it was too damn quiet and empty and he needed to get out. His legs wouldn’t sit still, nothing on TV was engaging his attention, and the options on the takeout menus he attempted to browse through kept blurring. He only managed to get three words into the meal descriptions before his train of thought abandoned the black inked words and shot straight to Oswald. His mom’s apartment was about twenty minutes away, but it was rush hour. Would he get there in thirty? Maybe more? How would she receive him? Overjoyed that the man who had stolen him wasn’t there? Resentful that he wouldn’t stay after the meal? Hopeful that perhaps she could persuade him to linger for a bit, maybe one more hour, then another, slowly turning that one more minute into forever? It wouldn’t happen, but it would wear at Oswald’s spirit, grinding him down, transforming formerly carefree dinners into a grueling ordeal that had to be endured and survived, and there wasn’t anything that Jim could do to make it better.

Chucking away the menus, he texted Harvey to ask if he wanted to go get a drink after work. If Jim sat here alone freaking out about whether Oswald and his mom were fighting again the entire time that he was gone, his mind was going to implode. 

_You’re not going to talk my ear off about how wonderful Cobblepot is again, are you?_ , Harvey texted back.

_No, I won’t do that._

_Ok, then_

They met at the same pub as before, only this time Jim ordered a cheeseburger along with his beer, which was the only beer that he would be drinking. Hangovers were not a thing that he would be whimpering through ever again if he could help it.

“So what’s up?” Harvey asked as they sat down at a table in the back corner. “I thought you’d be spending the whole day with Cobblepot.”

After he called in sick that morning, Jim had texted Harvey the reason why he wasn’t going to work since he had been so understanding on Monday, but he hadn’t been expecting Harvey to text him back later in the afternoon to ask how the meeting with Oswald’s mom had gone. Maybe the situation humanized Oswald in his eyes, although it was probably just Jim that he was concerned about.

“He’s having dinner with his mom,” Jim said. “They agreed that he would eat over there every other day since he’s not moving back in.”

“Good compromise,” Harvey said, munching on his own burger. “Though I’m surprised that she left you unscathed. You weren’t so lucky last time.”

“She didn’t insult me once. It was weird. Though she couldn’t, really. Not with Oswald there. He even got her to apologize for slapping me.”

“Wow. I did tell you she that would be desperate to get him back.”

“Yeah, but she’s not making it easy. It’s like pulling teeth. She and Oswald had a full on shouting match when he told her that he was going to continue living with me.”

“Don’t worry too much about it. These things take a long time to settle. It could be months. Years. And it’s very unlikely that she’ll slip you a poisoned muffin. Well, somewhat unlikely. I mean, if you die puking your guts out, it would be pretty obvious to Cobblepot who’s responsible, so I doubt that she would risk it.”

“Thanks,” Jim said, flashing him a sarcastic smile. “I am so reassured now.”

“You should be. Killing you is way too obvious.”

“I know she’s not going to kill me. But she is going to try to talk him out of being with me, which is a pain in the neck.”

Harvey snorted.

“Like that would work.”

“I just hate being a thorn between them.”

“It’s not your fault. She’s the one with the problem.”

“I know. At least they’re talking.”

“There you go. Think positive. And even if things don’t go well, the mob will probably kill you before you have a chance to be too miserable, so cheer up.”

Brilliant.

“Always a silver lining, huh?”

“Hey, you’re the one with the martyr complex. I would think that the prospect of dying in a blaze of glory would make you happy.”

“I do not have a martyr complex. Why does everyone think that?”

Harvey raised a skeptical brow at him. 

“You really need me to answer that? Cause I think listing all the reasons would take me a good hour.”

Oh for God’s sake.

“Fine. Never mind. I would vastly prefer not to die, poisoned by a hostile mother-in-law or otherwise.”

An hour later, Oswald texted him that he was leaving his mother’s apartment. Jim had messaged him earlier, telling him that he was going out with Harvey and asking Oswald to inform him when he would be back. He wanted to be home when Oswald returned so he wouldn’t be alone with the frustrations that his mother had doubtlessly brought up. So he said good-bye to Harvey and drove back to the apartment, putting on some 1920’s jazz music that Oswald liked so that he would arrive in a relaxing environment.

“I’m home!” Oswald called out fifteen minutes later. 

“Hey,” Jim said.

He got up from the couch, where he had been failing to catch up on that day’s sports pages, because no more than two sentences into an article, his gaze wandered back to the front door, straining to hear Oswald’s limping gait out in the corridor. Framing his hands around Oswald’s weary face, Jim kissed him hello, wishing so hard that he could wipe Oswald’s stress away. 

“Missed me, did you?” Oswald asked once Jim leaned back. A little smile played on his lips. Jim’s own widened in relief. His attempts at comfort were working so far. 

“I did. I kept fearing that your mom was going to lock you in your room and I was going to have to go over there and break you out.”

“Oh, I have no doubt that the thought crossed her mind. It took me half an hour to finally be able to leave after the first time that I gave her my good-byes. Though I should not protest so much, considering the alternative is outright rejection.”

“Yeah. It’s a good problem to have, I guess.”

Oswald took off his coat. His shoulders were slightly hunched, stiff from the evening’s tribulations.

“Do you want me to rub your shoulders?” Jim asked. 

“Oh, that would be heavenly. Just let me go change first.”

Soon, Oswald returned wearing his usual evening clothes: a dark, green sweater, comfortable black slacks, and black loafers. Jim was waiting for him at the dining table. Pulling a chair in front of Jim, Oswald sat down with the backrest to his left side and Jim got to work. Soon, Oswald’ muscles began to relax, knots loosening under his gentle fingers.

“Thank you for putting Louis Armstrong on,” Oswald said after a while, voice drowsy. “His music always comforts me.”

“I thought you would need it. Did it go easier this time around?”

“Not really. She wants me to leave you.”

Or course she did.

“We went back and forth all dinner. She’ll let up eventually, but not anytime soon.”

Jim kissed Oswald’s nape, wishing that he could get Mrs. Kapelput to like him as easily as he laid his lips on Oswald’s skin. 

````````````````  
_I’ve lost my damn marbles._

No. That was the only answer that Jeremy should have given Oswald. _No, I am not going to get chopped up into fish food for helping you no matter how much you plead with me. I’m sorry that you and your boyfriend are in danger, I really am, but you were the one stupid enough to rat out Fish Mooney and Maroni, and I refuse to be dragged into your deranged plan. Find someone else._

But what had he said instead? _I’ll keep an ear out_ In other words, yes, I’ll bite the hand that feeds me for you. Not that the mob fed him directly, but the club’s agreement with Fish Mooney, and, therefore, Falcone, for protection and prime real estate placed them squarely in the mob’s pocket. The only way out was straight into the sewer with your head lopped off. 

Janice called him “a big softie” and, lo and behold, she was right, because all that it had taken for Jeremy to agree to one of the stupidest, most suicidal things that he had ever done in his whole life were the pleas of a client who he had grown unwisely fond of nearly a year ago and now Jeremy was going to die right along with him unless they played their cards exactly right. And did it look like Oswald had been playing his cards right so far? Snitching again? Really? What was the man thinking? He was damn lucky that Maroni hadn’t chopped him up and tossed him in the river. Granted, it did sound like the only reason why he was stuck in this situation was to keep Falcone from snuffing him out, so Oswald might be excused this time. And he had managed to talk his way out of certain death twice, which was pretty impressive, but his Get Out of Jail Free cards were due to run out soon. There might not be one left to toss Jeremy’s way. 

Jeremy didn’t even know this Gordon that Oswald wanted so desperately to protect. He sounded like a decent cop, even an honest one, which was unheard of in this city, but he wasn’t anything to Jeremy. Who in the GCPD managed to reach detective rank without lining their pockets with the seeds of corruption, anyway? Although being Oswald’s boyfriend was corrupt enough, wasn’t it? Gordon knew what Oswald was, he had to, probably with more detail than Jeremy did. Unless he wasn’t as pristine as he appeared to be. Or Oswald only showed him his sweet face, keeping the brutal side of his character carefully tucked away like he had with Jeremy. 

Oswald was a gangster, after all. One of the most dangerous forms of predator on the street. Hence why Jeremy had discouraged their connection when he had noticed Oswald growing sweet on him. Oswald may have claimed that there had been nothing more to his nervous, happy smiles when Jeremy touched him than the typical yearning for companionship, but Jeremy knew a burgeoning crush when he saw one. And while a gangster developing a soft spot for you could be a huge advantage, romantic feelings were a wildfire waiting to devour every bone in your body, especially when said gangster was a trick. Oswald may have been cute and shy and endearingly eager to please, but that was hardly all of him. Many gangsters had a gentle side to them that they kept closely guarded, only revealing it to loved ones and oftentimes to those that they paid to attend to their physical needs. Yet this softness lived alongside a cold, mercenary, sometimes even jolly, propensity for violence. No one rose as far up the ranks of the mob as Oswald had without cutting out mercy when it proved a liability, especially when they worked for a shark with the ferocious bite of Fish Mooney. And now he had risen even further, working right under both Falcone and Maroni. By necessity, Oswald’s own bite must have grown sharper still. Yet he had still been humble when asking for Jeremy’s help. Not once had he threatened Jeremy or even implied that Jeremy should comply for his own good. If he had, Jeremy would have pretended to go along with him and then headed straight for Mooney and told her everything. Jeremy refused to be threatened again. By anyone. 

But Oswald had done no such thing, despite it being a doubtlessly common action in his daily routine. Quite the opposite. How many times had Oswald assured him, every word ringing of truth, that Jeremy was under no obligation to comply with his request? Jeremy hadn’t survived seven years in this business without knowing precisely when someone was lying to him. Even the most skillful mobsters, so certain of their ability to deceive, slipped up sometimes. Only once had he perceived that Oswald was being less than truthful: when he had denied his past feelings for Jeremy. 

So Jeremy’s perception of him had been correct a year ago. Nothing indicated that it was wrong now. And yet… The possibility always existed.

Strictly business. That’s how Oswald should have remained. Yet Jeremy had thrown Oswald’s money back at him, refusing to bind himself by the unwritten contract of bribery, and, by the same token, rejecting the premise that there was any business left between them. Oswald had offered him whatever he wanted at the end of this and Jeremy would take it, grabbing every last penny that he was entitled to, but would there be an end that wasn’t met with a bullet to his head or a knife in his gut? Cash up front. This was dogma. No transactions, sexual or otherwise, without cash up front. Oswald had offered him cash up front. Jeremy had said no. To that he said no. 

_I’m an idiot._

To top it off, the world’s hilarious sense of humor dropped a little present in his lap around 3 am. Clients trickled into the club at all hours until dawn. Those whose obligations kept them on the job at night were always late comers, some of them smalltime, others higher up the ladder. The man who walked through the parlor doors now, greeting Janice like they were old friends, a big smile on his face, was high up indeed. Other people, people who hadn’t acquired a healthy dose of cynicism, would call this a sign. Jeremy called it the universe sniggering in his face while nudging him to certain doom. So Oswald wanted him to keep track of Falcone’s lieutenants in the club. How about Butch Gilzean? Was he important enough? 

```````````````````````````  
The sharp ringing of his phone jarred Oswald awake. Blinking bleary eyes at the digital clock, which read 3:04am, he felt around the side table for his phone and squinted at the caller ID. It read “Zack”, his false name for Jeremy.

“Hello?” he answered, falling back on the mattress. Beside him, Jim stirred, peering at him.

“Hello,” Jeremy said. “Sorry to wake you, but I wanted to run something by you.”

At this hour?

“What is it?”

“I’ll text you.”

Then he hung up. Oswald stared at the phone in his hand, waiting for the text to come, his brain barely awake enough to process what had just been said. 

“Who was that?” Jim asked.

“Jeremy. He said he’s going to text me back.”

The text arrived with a loud _ping_.

_I’m not risking anyone overhearing me. Butch Gilzean is here. Thought you’d want to know that._

Oswald’s eyes widened.

“Gilzean is at the Everleigh,” Oswald said. 

_Can you get close to him?,_ he texted back.

“Does he go there often?” Jim asked, sidling close to Oswald so that he could read the phone, too.

“He used to.”

_Downstairs, he only spends time with his crew and the girls._

Damn. Although perhaps Jeremy shouldn’t get too close. It might not be the smoothest thing for Jeremy to approach him. Subtlety might be better.

_Keep an eye on him, but don’t be obvious._

_Of course not. I doubt that I’ll learn anything, though. They never talk much business at the club._

_There might still be something to be made from this._

_Ok. Since I am officially working for you now, it occurs to me that we need to find a way around our payment issue. Your promises are all very well and good, but I was thinking that something upfront would be more proper, after all._

Oh.

_Of course. What would you like?_

_I’ve been talking about getting a new laptop. No one would suspect that._

_Okay. I’ll get you the best they have._

_It doesn’t have to be fancy._

_You deserve it for helping me._

And he couldn’t afford to have Jeremy back out now. 

_Thanks. I’ll talk to you tomorrow._

Oswald placed the phone back on the table, his mind abuzz with the possibilities that Jeremy’s rapprochement might provide them.

“How likely is it,” Jim asked, “that Jeremy will get anything out of him?”

“Not likely at all. The club is too public to be spilling secrets. But there are other angles.”

Namely, death. But Jim wouldn’t like that. Neither would Jeremy. 

“What other angles?” Jim asked.

Damn. Despite the concealment of the dark, Oswald Jim’s gaze pierced through to him, narrowed in damning suspicion. 

“Are you thinking about killing him?” Jim asked, leaning up on his elbow, voice hardening.

“He’s not an innocent, Jim.”

“I know that. He strung me and Harvey up and almost butchered us like cattle.”

Oswald scowled, fury burning in his gut. Yes. Gilzean had done that, hadn’t he? Plenty of reason for Gilzean to die, agonizing at every thrust of his knife’s blade. Although he had promised Jim not to avenge him again by killing anyone, revenge, strictly speaking, wasn’t the main motivator in this particular case. Not really. It would merely be a delightful bonus. 

“He’s Fish’s right hand man,” Oswald said, turning toward Jim, striving unsuccessfully to discern his expression in the dark. “His death would be a terrible blow to her organization. She would be severely weakened.”

“I understand that.”

“And I know that you don’t want to hear this, but someone dying is inevitable. It’s not feasible otherwise. If I don’t kill them, they will kill us.”

“I know,” Jim said, his voice even harder this time.

He dropped back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, surely with a glare in his eyes. Oswald touched his left arm. He didn’t press, just laid his hand lightly on his skin, praying that Jim would come to terms with the fact that killing so that one might live was just business. Perhaps it wasn’t the same as in the war that Jim had fought in, but this was Oswald’s life. Jim was too good for it. Too good for him. But it was too late now to step back, for either of them. 

“Do what you have to,” Jim said after a nerve-wracking silence, his voice heavy with resignation. “But no more than that.”

Oswald nodded.

“I won’t go beyond what is necessary. I promise.”

A quick death wasn’t anywhere near as satisfying, but it would have to do. Dead was dead, after all. And a contemptuous shitheel such as Gilzean wasn’t worth risking Jim’s displeasure. Pushing too far past Jim’s comfort zone proved too perilous. 

“Thanks,” Jim said. He squeezed Oswald’s hand for a moment. “Go back to sleep.”

But Oswald couldn’t sleep, not with Jim disappointed in him again. He wasn’t even facing Oswald on the bed. Instead, he was curled up on his right side toward the window, purposely shutting him out. How could Oswald sleep with this bitter tension between them? And Jeremy kept slipping into his mind as well. Would he be willing to be an accessory to murder, perhaps even commit the murder himself? Just getting him to spy for Oswald had required so much coaxing and prodding. This would likely be met with a no, but it was absolutely necessary.

“Can’t sleep?” Jim asked, startling Oswald.

“Uh, no. I’m just… My mind is all abuzz. I keep thinking about Jeremy’s texts and strategy.”

He broke off when Jim turned over, placing his right hand on Oswald’s hip just above the waistband of his pajama pants. 

“Do you want me to help you?” Jim asked, curling his fingers under the elastic, preparing to pull them down. “This always quiets your mind.”

“You don’t have to,” Oswald said, not wanting Jim to feel like he had to make up for being displeased with him. “I’m okay. I’ll drift off eventually.”

“You don’t want me to?”

“I… If you want. I don’t not want you to. But you should get some sleep yourself.”

Jim’s hand slipped away. Oswald mourned its loss, but with their disagreement so fresh between them, he didn’t feel terribly comfortable engaging in such activities. Jim returned to his earlier position on the bed. It tore at Oswald’s heart.

“Jim?” Oswald asked once the silence had grown so oppressive that he choked on it.

“Hm?”

“Good night.”

After a second of agonizing deliberation, Jim lied down on his back and grabbed Oswald’s hand, his touch drawing a grateful smile on Oswald’s face.

“Good night,” he said.

He didn’t turn away again. But neither did he face Oswald. 

``````````````````````  
Jim was gone by the time that Oswald woke up the next morning. He did leave Oswald a pan of scrambled eggs and bacon, but there was nothing special in the gesture. Since Oswald almost always provided dinner, either by cooking it or bringing it from the restaurant, Jim had taken to making breakfast. He left for work so early that they hadn’t had too many chances to enjoy them together, but Jim still made sure that Oswald got a warm breakfast. Oswald should have made an effort to get up a little earlier today. He ached for Jim right now. After last night, it would have been nice to have at least kissed him good-bye before he headed out, held his hand, looked into his eyes and made sure that they were okay. Oswald’s business would never be an easy subject between them, but he would like to at least be able to gauge exactly how upset Jim was and how much of that irritation was directed at him. Their love was built on stones, well packed and stacked high, but the small rocks had been shifting for a while, jerking loose. If one snapped too far, they would all collapse and scatter and no one would be able to assemble them again.

Shaking such maudlin thoughts out his head, Oswald flicked on the stove to heat up Jim’s breakfast.

Later on that morning, he bought Jeremy’s laptop, opting for the best device in the store. Sure, Jeremy had told him not to get anything fancy, but he would be glad of the fat cash envelope this machine represented once he learned Oswald’s plan for Gilzean. It was too risky to meet Jeremy again to hand over the laptop, so he had it shipped, keeping his name off all the shipping materials. He texted Jeremy around noon. If he wasn’t awake yet, he should be soon.

_I shipped your new laptop. You should receive it in the afternoon. Were you able to get to Gilzean?_

About half an hour later, Jeremy texted him back.

_Thank you. I kept an eye on him, but I didn’t overhear anything of value. What’s your endgame? I don’t think I’ll be able to get anything out of him._

Ah.

_I have been considering options._

_Just so you know, it’s my head if he’s found dead at the club and I’m one of the last people that he interacted with._

_I know. I won’t put you in danger._

_Less lying and more truth would be great._

_You’re right. I am placing you in some amount of danger. But I won’t require you to do anything that you don’t want to do._

_Is that true?_

_Yes._

A few seconds later, his phone rang. Jeremy was calling.

“Hello?” he answered.

“Is that true?”

“Yes, of course it is. You can trust me.”

“You need him killed.”

“Yes.”

“You can’t get to him, but I can.”

“Well, yes.”

“So, you want me to kill him.”

“I… It would be the most convenient scenario.”

“So that’s a yes? Just spit it out, Oswald.”

“Yes, I want you to kill him. I need you to. And I know that this is not what we discussed, but other avenues would add complications.”

“I’m not an assassin. You do remember that, right?”

“I understand.”

“So if I tell you that I won’t do it, will you explore those other avenues?”

Oswald didn’t answer right away. It pained him to force Jeremy like this, but he couldn’t relent on a matter as important as this.

“I would prefer not to.”

“So you will make me kill him.”

Oswald gripped the phone a little tighter.

“I will reward you generously for it, I promise you.”

“That one I do believe.”

“So you will do it?”

Silence. 

“Do I have a choice?” 

“Of course.”

“Absolute truth, Oswald.”

Oswald shut his eyes, dragging out a vexed sigh. 

“I have nothing to hold you. You haven’t done anything for me yet, not really. If I say no, you could wiggle free by handing me in.”

“I haven’t considered handing you in.”

“But you could. So yes, you have a choice. You do, no matter what I say.”

“You’re right. I do. Lucky me.”

Seconds trickled by without any further reply.

“Does that mean that you won’t?” Oswald asked, his palm sweaty. 

More silence. Oswald sucked in a deep breath, realizing that at one point, he had forgotten to breathe.

“Fuck it. I already said yes to you, didn’t I? Gilzean would already find reason to kill me. And it’s not like I didn’t know something like this was coming. But your plan better as hell not put me in danger.”

“Of course not. Thank you.”

“If I get caught, I could spill everything and give you up. You know that.”

“I know. I could do likewise. Mutual jeopardy does help build trust.”

“Just wanted to be on the same page. Though the balances are still in your favor. Don’t think I don’t realize that.”

Jeremy hung up.

```````````````````  
“Oswald wants to kills Butch Gilzean,” Jim told Harvey as they drove to a crime scene.

The whole morning, the words had been burning on his tongue, but he couldn’t unload them until they were safely in the car where no one could overhear them.

“I saw that one coming,” Harvey said. “Does he have a particular plan or did he just express a general desire to off him?”

“He’s coming up with a plan. He has a mole in the Everleigh Club. I think that he wants to use him to kill Gilzean.”

“The Everleigh? Not where I thought that he’d be getting a mole.”

“He knew the guy from when he worked with Mooney.”

Harvey shot him a curious look.

“A guy, huh?” 

Aw, hell.

“Yeah.”

“Is there anything to that?”

“Not that I’m going to discuss. That’s Oswald’s business.”

“Okay. I’ll let you cry uncle.”

Now Jim wished that he hadn’t said anything. Harvey was already reading things into Jim’s comment, analyzing every possible nuance. Jim could see it in his face. And he would probably be correct in his deductions. It wasn’t exactly a giant leap what the context of Oswald’s acquaintance with Jeremy was.

“So you’re not happy,” Harvey said, “that Cobblepot wants to kill Butch.”

Harvey had let it go. Thank God for small mercies. 

“I know that expecting no one to die is stupid.”

“You do remember what I told you before? About this being a war?”

“Yeah, I remember. Although, you were goading me into killing the man who is now my boyfriend, as I recall.”

“Alright. In hindsight, that’s not the best context, but what I said is still true.”

“I understand that.”

“You just need to be reminded, don’t you? Your conscience keeps nagging at you?”

“Yeah, it does. Look, I know what needs to be done. I will do it.”

“Then why keep bringing it up?”

Jim considered that for a while.

“I guess I need to vent. And you’re the only one who I can vent with, so… If you want me to shut up, just tell me and I will.”

“That’s fine. I get it. Go ahead and vent. I’d hate to see what would happen to you if you keep all those feelings bottled up inside.”

“I’m just waiting for someone to call me a hypocrite for being friends with Oswald.”

“You’re not a hypocrite.”

“How do you figure that one? Look at what I’m doing.”

“But that’s the love, right? You’re the type to do crazy things for love.”

Jim shook his head at himself.

“I guess so.”

``````````````````````````  
Oswald wanted to call Jim. But it was past lunchtime, their usual calling window, and he didn’t want to interrupt Jim at work, nor did he wish to risk being overheard at his own. He could text, of course. There were always texts, which did make up the majority of their daytime communication, but with their lack of vocal tone, he wouldn’t be able to accurately assess Jim’s current feelings. He was making too much of this. They had already weathered hurdles like this one, after which Jim had assured him that he didn’t wish to leave him, so it would be alright. However, a little confirmation of this would be a great comfort. Jim hadn’t been very forthcoming or affectionate last night. Oswald should have gotten up before Jim left for work, to see if he was still upset or if he had grown resigned to the situation. Or if he had decided to stop blaming Oswald for something that was really out of his hands. They had decided, both of them, that they would not give up and let themselves be murdered. Not doing what was necessary was precisely that. Gilzean was an obstacle that had to be eliminated. A non-death option did not exist. He wouldn’t be bought, nor could Jim put him away. Why did Jim always refuse to understand this basic fact? 

Taking his phone out, Oswald looked up Jim’s name and started writing him a text, then quickly deleted everything. He jammed his phone back in his pocket, furious at himself for chickening out, but Jim hadn’t contacted him in the whole day, either, so maybe he didn’t want to talk. But Oswald did. He yearned so desperately to hold him, to kiss him, to feel that brilliant, loving smile directed at him. To know that he had not yet lost him.

```````````````````````  
Their apartment was dark when Jim arrived. Oswald wasn’t home yet. Pushing away a twinge of disappointment, he flicked on the lights. Oswald would call if he was running too late. He dropped the mail on the dining table and slipped off his coat, tossing it over a chair, then looked through the envelopes. A couple of utility bills. Some credit card junk mail. A square, white envelope. He placed the rest of the correspondence back on the table, concentrating on this last one. The return address said Eric Hoffman, a mutual friend of his and Barbara’s. Eric had introduced them three years ago at a one of his first exhibitions. Inside was an invitation for the opening of his new photography exhibit next Saturday. At Barbara’s gallery. 

Its name stared at him in its crisp, cursive ink, every black curve seeming to spell out Barbara’s own. Dwelling on her failed to have the same weakening effect on him as it did just a few weeks ago. He didn’t love her anymore. He cared for her, admired her as the close friend she had once been, but his love had since been led elsewhere. Oswald’s love had shaken him awake, as unexpected as a ray of sunlight breaking through the mournful pall of a cloudy sky in winter, yet every bit as welcome. Oswald’s sunlight had pushed out the gloom of Barbara’s absence, dispelling it completely. Seeing her again would do nothing to alter his feelings, yet, for a blinding moment of cowardice, he considered not going. He turned the invitation over in his hands, chewing on his bottom lip as he contemplated how upset Eric would be if Jim didn’t show. They hadn’t seen each other in a few months, but they contacted each other every once in a while. Missing his opening because Jim wanted to avoid his ex was rather mean-spirited of him, especially when he already loved someone else. Would Barbara be alright with seeing him? Maybe that’s what he should be asking himself. But they were both mature adults. They could be civil with each other for a couple of hours. And, who knew? Barbara may have moved on as well. Their breakup had hardly been one sided, after all. 

But there was another matter to consider if Jim did chose to attend. The invitation required him to mention if he would be bringing a plus one with his rsvp, and, naturally, Oswald would be that person, but they couldn’t go together. Word getting out that they were friends had already brought a barrage of complications and heated whispers at Jim’s back for continuing to fight against corruption despite his connection to Oswald. If people knew that they were boyfriends, it would grow worse, even dangerous. Maroni knew, and look where that had landed them. As much as he longed to be able to walk hand in hand with Oswald down the street or go out to dinner, it simply wasn’t possible. There were too many unknowns, too many risks. 

The front door unlocked with a soft clacking sound. Jim turned around, quickly hiding the invitation under the bills. Oswald walked in, greeting Jim with a bright smile. 

“Hello,” he said, approaching Jim eagerly. “I’m glad you’re home.”

“No weird case today to keep me out late.”

They kissed hello, Oswald’s hands resting on Jim’s arms, squeezing gently. There was a shade of nervousness in his eyes, which made Jim frown, but then he remembered. They hadn’t left things in the best light last night.

“How was your day?” Jim asked, avoiding mentioning either Jeremy or Gilzean.

“Alright,” Oswald said, dropping his hands. “I got some affairs in order.”

His gaze drifted between the room and Jim’s face, his intense stare shifting into an evasive mask. Jim slipped his hands into his pant pockets, forcing himself to mentally recite his words from earlier. _I know what needs to be done. I will do it._

“Your plan is moving forward, then?”

Unease clouded Oswald’s face.

“Yes.”

Jim nodded, looking away himself, his stomach pinching in distaste, but he must be reasonable. Desperate to distract himself with something, he cleared the mail from the table, tucking the invitation at the bottom of the pile, and placed it by the landline phone in the living room so that he would remember to pay the bills later. That invitation was another thing that they would have to discuss, but not now. He couldn’t handle more discomfort right now. 

“I’ll get started on dinner,” Oswald said, tossing his coat and his jacket over a chair instead of hanging them in the closet straightaway like he usually did.

“You don’t have to. We can order out.”

“I haven’t cooked in a while,” Oswald said with a feeble smile, already walking to the kitchen. “I’ll make something fast.”

“Okay.”

Jim watched him go, contemplating his rushed gait, then picked up their coats and placed them in the closet.


	2. End Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reply to Kristina.

I’m not sure where to start here since there are a lot of things I would like to address. I guess I’m going to start with the gay male tied to prostitution in slash fic comment. I’ve seen it a couple of times, but not that much. I actually had to stop and think for a while before I could remember an example. That isn’t saying that there aren’t loads of prostitution fics. The world of fanfiction is humongous and I’m only aware of the particular corners that I have read and written in. I had also been out of the fanfiction writing game for a long time before I started this fic. A little over two years, actually. I still did some reading, but still pretty much in one, particular corner, so I’m kind of rusty about the tropes and such. So… Not something I was thinking about.

My conception of Jeremy was, first of all, practical. Oswald needed a mole in the Theatre District to further the plot I’m setting up. There are no canon characters that would have worked. We don’t have that many to play with, really. I use OCs in my frantic only if I can’t get the same effect with a canon character. If I’m using one, it’s because I didn’t see any other way to do what I needed. I also wanted someone that Oswald had a connection with and who he could trust. I don’t want to go too much into why Jeremy is a prostitute because some of it is spoiler and some of it is personal. Mostly, it was simply what worked at the time. I didn’t make the connection between gay men and prostitutions while I was writing because hetero prostitution is just as common. It’s all we’ve seen in the show so far, specifically with Harvey. I mentioned his night with Marsha, from “Penguin’s Umbrella”, in this fix. Also, Jeremy isn’t gay. He’s bi. And men aren’t his only clients, it just hasn’t come up. Oswald is gay, but, seriously, pure coincidence. Not discounting the tropes and clichés at all, I just want to say that if the straight guy can hire prostitutes without the action being stigmatized, then the gay guy should get the same deal. I’m not going to treat them any differently. Yes, clichés are bad. But double standards are bad, too. It’s really hard to strike a balance sometimes, though.

On the comment about Oswald trusting Jeremy too quickly: Oswald’s trust for Jim was really quick, too. I would say, even quicker. I went into this in my fix “The Meaning of Friendship”. Oswald trusts Jim because Jim saved his life. There was nothing selfless on Jim’s part of that at all. The first time, Jim refused to murder someone, especially under the orders of a mobster. It had nothing to do with Oswald. The second time, at Maroni’s restaurant, Maroni had threatened to expose his secret to Falcone. His own life was danger. Now, I do think that Frankie’s threat about cutting Oswald’s head off affected him, because he believes that everyone deserves protection. Example: “Everyone matters of no one matters,” from “The Ballonman”, and his reply to Jack the Electrocutioner that everyone at the precinct deserves his protection, including the gangsters. Oswald was just a random stranger, and neither action was even about Oswald himself. Jim was just saving himself. The reason why I went into detail about that is because Oswald should realize that. If he were viewing the situation exclusively from a rational standpoint, he would. It feels obvious to me. But I don’t think he is. He told his incredibly possessive mother, who tells him that he can only trust her, that he considers Jim a friend and that he trusts him. That really stuck out to me. It was compounded in episode 13 when Oswald looked so genuinely happy to see Jim and he called them friends, asking for nothing in return for the favor that Jim was asking him. Jim looks confused by this, which he would be, because, in his mind, there is no reason for them to be friends or for Oswald to be treating him like this. I posted some of my thoughts about this in a discussion with gobblepotfans:

Oswald has no friends, and I think that’s a circumstance that has probably been true for most of, if not his whole life. He’s very lonely. He’s the kind of guy who would have been the odd kid school who got bullied and dismissed. It looks like he hasn’t had anyone close to him apart from his mother. She’s the only one who has ever cared whether he lives or not. He knew that Jim was too decent of a cop to become Falcone’s executioner. Choosing him as his only possible escape plan was a rational decision, yet, in his extreme loneliness, he can’t quite separate Jim’s disinterested action from the sudden feeling of gratitude that arises from it. Oswald rationalizes his continuing to engage with Jim in various ways: Jim is a detective in the GCPD, he’s trustworthy because he isn’t corrupt, so someone else won’t buy him out, and Oswald can lean on Jim’s belief that even criminals deserve a fair shake, but deep down, Oswald is being ruled by the desperate need to connect with someone, to have a friend, something which he probably has always yearned to have, but which has never been afforded to him. He’s still the lonely kid standing outside the window watching the rest of the school laugh together and go to parties and get togethers that they never invite him to. He hopes that maybe Jim might be different, even if Jim is only humoring him at first, even if it’s just an illusion with the taste of friendship, maybe, gradually, he could coax Jim to really care about him. 

In a nutshell, Oswald trusts Jim pretty fast basing himself on nothing more than an action that was not disinterested from Jim’s part and that Jim is an honest cop. Not that honest cops make a habit out of befriending criminals. That’s kind of the opposite of what they do. Which Oswald should know. 

So, back to Jeremy. Oswald met him before Jim, so he’s very much the lonely guy who wants desperately to make a connection with someone. Sex workers say that this is why a lot of people hire them. Oswald wants sex, but, more than that, he wants what comes with the sex. The company, the physical intimacy with another person, to touch someone else and be touched in return so that for a little bit, he won’t be so alone. He’s curious about what sex feels like and how it affects him and the person he’s with, even though he’s fully aware that this is just a job for Jeremy, but for just a few minutes, he wants to pretend. He never fully loses sight of the reality of the situation, but, at the same time, he pretended a little more than he meant to. Hence why he’s so upset when Jeremy wonders why he keeps coming back. He had to face the full reality of the situation despite himself. Given this and that the context in which they know each other is Oswald hiring Jeremy for sex, yes, I would say that the sex is necessary. 

In contacting Jeremy again, Oswald is reaching out to one of the very few people who he felt a connection with. He’s also someone associated with Falcone’s organization who Oswald thinks wouldn’t automatically shut the door in his face. 

So those are a few thoughts about why Jeremy exists. It got a little rambly, but, hopefully, it’s comprehensible enough. I’m working off of my own interpretation of the canon, which can always differ from other people’s.


End file.
